It is Tuesday and time to write a 'Slice of Life."
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I have a kind of unease, a prickly sensation, a coldness in my bones when I’m around a certain type of easy chatter superficial back and forth embedded in a distancing a loved one doing their best to fake it to cover up pain I grew up reading the room weighing the change in tone hearing the false perkiness masking exhaustion giving up hollow
A dear friend is ensnared with depression. I have watched it build in recent years. Who knows the root? A frightening diagnosis from a doctor, perhaps. Recovery that feels less than complete, perhaps. The loneliness and fear of the pandemic, perhaps. I don’t know, I can’t possibly know. Is it ever one thing sending us tumbling into this hard sad numbness?
We women of a certain age often speak about ‘not letting ourselves go,’ trying to age with strength. We mean this mostly in the physical sense and we share about our morning stretching routines, daily walks, or a new fun exercise class. Being with this dear person, all these daily routines feel so foolish and inadequate. Depression is a poison, permeating the body, turning routines into mush. There is no ability to engage, to have a project or a pastime, to enjoy a long walk. An eerie distancing from all and everything.
Every outreach I make feels useless, a band aid when someone is hemorrhaging. I feel myself losing her. She is hurting and I am struggling, too.
an unknown invisible misery weaves within you spreading mysteriously in ways unforeseen leaving you so troubled pulsating with fear and anxiety I do not understand you so bold and beautiful now sitting in sad eerie silence bereft of oomph or desire where have you gone, dear one? how might I help you move forward in the dark?
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